


The Last Word

by redhoodiies



Series: The Kiss Prompt Series [1]
Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Break Up, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Break Up, cursing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 11:14:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13762944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhoodiies/pseuds/redhoodiies
Summary: That was the last thing he got for the next few years. He’d gotten the last word.





	The Last Word

**Author's Note:**

> Post Break Up Kiss - The kiss that catches both of you off guard, but says I miss you, I’m sorry and please love me again all at once without any words being spoken.

Years. It has been  _ years _ .

 

He did everything he could; he drank, he removed any and all traces that  _ he  _ was even there, went out on the town for a while and rarely ever came back until the morning. He was making it; he was scraping by, just as he had before, just as he did now. It was easier than trying; Edd and Matt worried, sure, but he was always known for taking the easy route and if not trying was what it took, was the easiest path of least resistance, then so be it. That was just how it was going to have to be.

 

He didn’t know how he’d react if he ever returned. To be fair, he was told he wouldn’t be coming back. He was told that the dream lay elsewhere, somewhere that wasn’t on Durdan Lane, somewhere that wasn’t where they built up their already shaky foundations and struggled to continue in a feeble house of their own making, somewhere that wasn’t near him. He was told that he would be leaving the morning and that would be the end of that. He was told, “So long, old friends.”

 

He responded that time with a bitter, “I’m not your  _ friend _ ” just as the car door closed and he wasn’t sure if the words were heard or not but in that moment he hoped they stung the bumper of his car, left a nick in the paint. He hoped they chased him down the street and followed him to wherever this stupid dream lies at and nipped his ass, had him looking over his shoulder when he walks down streets and makes him nervous to be alone.

 

He never got closure, really. He’d just up and left without so much of a word as where they stood, as if his action was supposed to define everything but he was so lost and there was no one to point him in the right direction. He tried the cell; dead. His only option was disconnected and he has no idea where he stands with a man in a shitty red hoodie. 

 

It was a week later he got a call at 1:24 in the morning, half asleep, unknown number. He thought it was a scam. All he got was “Don’t” in such a familiar tone that it had Tom sitting up and before he can say a word, get a breath in, the line is dead. He tries again. Can’t reach the number.

 

That was the last thing he got for the next few years. He’d gotten the last word.

 

He had years. He spent years thinking about what he’d do if he came back; scream? Yell? Throw a punch? He didn’t know, there were just so many possibilities; too many, if he was honest. He always promised himself that, above all else, no matter what he does do, he will not freeze. He can’t freeze. If he froze, it was a sure fire sign that he still thought about him, still missed him, still wondered if he’d ever really come back.

 

And what does he do when he see him?

 

Fucking freezes.

 

But it wasn’t fair, he was caught off guard. He wasn’t on his game. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair. Yet again he had the upper advantage; he always preferred to have the upperhand on things, and of course his return would be absolutely no exception. What an asshole.

 

So of course he avoids him. It’s been years, he should be able to see his stupid face; see the way his hair is so ridiculously styled and not think about how it actually suits him; see his grin that’s just a little too wide and not remember that those teeth were gentle until the moment he asked them not to be; see the way he holds himself and not remember the confidence he felt with him at his side. He should be able to do all these things, all these things and  _ more _ but instead he’s hiding away in his bedroom ( _ his _ bedroom? Who fucking knows) away from everyone else because it’s so much easier to get by without having to see anyone else, without having to see him.

 

But then he’s at the bedroom door, knocking and coming inside like he always did because he was too impatient to wait for someone to say two goddamn words. “Tom -”

 

“No, no, get out,” Tom said immediately, standing up from where he was on the bed. He pointed towards the door; Tord refused the hint.

 

“Thomas -”

 

“I said get  _ out _ , Tord, I’m not… I’m not doing this.” He can’t. He physically can’t. His body can’t take this, and he knows he’s not really mentally prepared for this talk. It doesn’t matter how long it’s been or how many times Tom think he prepared for this, had this talk over and over in his head with his multiple outcomes, he wasn’t ready. He didn’t want this. Talking meant facing it; talking meant facing him.

 

“Will you just  _ listen  _ -”

 

“ _ Will you _ ! I’m telling you to leave, Tord! Leave like you did a long ass time ago. Leave me for a second fucking time where I’m actually willing to watch you go because I cannot handle this, handle you, handle whatever you want to fucking talk about. Was it worth it? Going away? Finding the dream?” Tom’s eyes narrowed. “You left me for that. You said it was somewhere else; somewhere not here. So why are you back, Tord? Why are you here? You should be long gone with us in your rearview mirror, your stupid one-liner leaving your stupid mouth again and this time you won’t get a word from me - just like I never got one from you.”

 

Tom let out a humorless laugh. “Actually, I did get a word from you, didn’t I? What was it? ‘Don’t’, right? Yeah, that was it.” He scoffed. “You gave me nothing, you didn’t give me a chance, and now it’s my turn to return the fucking favor. Fuck you, Tord.” Tom’s voice broke without him realizing that he’d even reached that point. “You left me with nothing. I didn’t even know where we stood, you didn’t tell me anything. Not a single fucking thing! You just thought that up and leaving would be painless? Make it easier? No! It doesn’t! That’s fucking worse than a break up text, which you couldn’t even grant me the privilege of anyway! You just left! Funny how that hurts a person and makes them almost desperate enough to try and call you, text you, anything to find out where the fuck you both stand now.

 

“But no. No, you wanted to leave me alone. You wanted to go, so now I’m letting you. You can run back off to wherever you came from, and you won’t have to worry about me, about where we stand, because I think I have a pretty fucking good -”

 

Tom’s monologue was cut off by large hands on his jaw, pulling him in, and there’s the familiar chapped lips he’s always known. There was so much going on in that kiss; almost too much. Tom would call it overwhelming if it weren’t for the fact he was already overwhelmed. There was an apology and a confession rolled into one, something that Tord’s pride - nor Tom - could let him say, so he did his next best option. He did the thing he knew would work, that he knew would shut Tom up like it always did before, that he knew could tell Tom what he means. 

 

It’s familiar; it’s Tord’s lips on his, heavy, chapped; the feeling of his hands curled under his jaw, cupping him, gentle; the way it said so much when both knew they couldn’t say anything more. 

 

It’s like the post break-up kiss you see in the movies, the one where the main guy kisses the main chick because he fucked up and she’s supposed to forgive him after this kiss, supposed to fall back in love with him and everything would be fine. What do you do, however, when you’re still in love with the main character, but you can’t forgive them? When your knees shake because of the kiss but your chest aches because you know you’re going to go through this again?

 

When Tord pulls away, they’re barely apart, breath still mingling together, and Tom’s is shaky but Tord’s is steady, if not a little breathless. He leans their foreheads together, hand sliding to rest on Tom’s neck, a gentle hold.

 

“Don’t,” is all Tom can manage. Tord understands; he’d given Tom the same treatment. They stay like that for another moment, reliving what they had for just that small bit of time before Tord was pulling away, leaving Tom for the second time and shutting the door behind him.

 

Looks like Tom got the last word after all.


End file.
